PotC: The Last Rose of Summer
by princessebee
Summary: Barbossa and Jack stopped off in Tortuga at the close of At World's End. Would Barbossa possibly pay a visit to his old friend, Evie? And what then for them both? By popular demand, the sequel to The Briar and The Rose. COMPLETE.
1. Parts I to III

I

It was like a miracle.

A blessed and dizzying miracle visited upon her right when she thought her time was finally at an end.

Evie still paused to wonder frequently if it were true, if it really were happening or if perhaps was actually some fever visited on her finally by too potent a combination of cacao leaf and gin.

Tortuga was bustling again.

She had thought it mere fancy at first, some months earlier, when it seemed there were one or two more ships dropped anchor in the port. But every day seemed to deliver a new shipload of delirious pirates and sailors, chomping at the bit to begin spilling coin, spilling rum and spilling seed. And once again there were not enough whores for them all and Evie found herself struggling to keep up with the demand.

She'd not been quite this busy since her golden years, between the ages of seventeen and twenty-one, when she'd had the full bloom of youth upon her along with the intoxicating complement of experience.

And though by the end of the night her cunny burned, her back ached and her lips were swollen and she was so bone weary in body and soul that she was oftentimes already dozing in mid-stride from her door to her bed, Evie flourished beneath her renewed success. It seemed that she walked taller, smiled broader and that the burden of several hard years lifted from her countenance so that she appeared younger.

The men could whiff out her good temper and it made her the more attractive to them, more even than many of the young ones could be, grumbling about being over worked and taking each new gent with an sigh. They could afford such ingratitude!

Evie once again brushed her hair one hundred strokes a night and brushed her teeth twice a week. She even mustered energy enough to get down to the docks at dawn for a new dress or two. Now she had enough each night to put some back into her secret cache of money, something she had not been able to afford for some years, and the fact made her swell with joy.

There were rumours and murmurings; that the East India Trading Company had fallen to a cordon of pirates made up of the Brethren, but they were merely rumours and murmurings. Evie had heard a little of the supposed Brethren over the years, had heard whispers that such and such pirate was one of the supposed nine Lords, but had never had any confirmation of such things and rather thought it might be more pirate fancy, and they had rather a surplus of that.

Whatever the case, it seemed the Company were no longer so interested in regulating the actions of pirates, and the seas were responding, the swell of each wave delivering some new leaky vessel filled to bursting with men eager to make a fortune and live free and the whores of Tortuga, what were left of them, rejoiced.

A whore could once again afford to smile and wave to her neighbours and Black Ruth's little tavern was once again a jolly place. Evie played the girls in friendly games of cards and allowed herself to loose regularly so as to keep tempers friendly. She had no time now to play the men, for they were rather more interested in her other skills, and though Evie missed the game she was never much one to pine for what fortune she didn't have over what she did.

But for all this, it could not be said Evie's happiness was perfect. It would happen, sometimes once a week, sometimes more; that she would open her eyes suddenly to look at the sweating, grunting face of whatever fellow was upon her and feel her heart suddenly run cold. And all about her would seem strange and foreign to her eyes, to her very touch, as though she had only just realised that all of this was a dream; that what she thought was her life was merely the fevered twitchings of sleep and that her real life lay somewhere on the other side of the thin film of the night sky that hung above her. To feel the solidness of the fellow's shoulders seemed implausible, the wind on her cheek mere whimsy, even the chink of gold in her pocket felt unreal. And she would squeeze shut her eyes again and swear that with the dawn she would sell off her belongings and leave Tortuga. And each new night she would awaken once more and find herself breathless at the thought and she would resolve to stay on, just a little longer.

And it would happen, though less often, that Evie would douse all but one candle in her cramped and dark room, and fetch from a false panel in the base of her dresser, a little music box whose tune had long ceased to play. She would sit in the centre of her bed with the drapes shut tight about her, and fetch from inside it a ruby necklace that she would put about her neck, a gentleman's ruby ring that she would put upon her thumb and a set of pearl combs that went into her hair. Then she would arrange the rest of the assorted miscellany from the box upon the coverlet and survey it. A piece or two of shining gold with patterns pressed into it that she thought were especially pretty (and he who gave them to her knew she would think so), a deck of cards so worn and faded they were no more useable, a pipe with a broken stem, and other such seemingly meaningless pieces of junk. One by one she would take each piece into her hands and remember the moments that it had come into her possession. Sometimes these thoughts would bring to her lips a curving little smile, even an outburst of laughter; sometimes they would provoke hot tears she might choke down with gin or allow to fall. Sometimes it could be both, and that was most wretched of all.

But she tried not to make too much a habit of this practice; for she would be sick of heart for days afterwards and it put the men off as though they could smell it like a sickness upon her.

II

It was a balmy clear night that The Black Pearl sailed once more into the port of Tortuga and the waters were calm.

Tensions on the ship, on the other hand, were running high, for the Pearl was in the unusual position of finding herself with two Captains and neither willing to acquiesce to the other.

"And I say we drop anchor a half-mile from shore, leastways we find ourselves vulnerable to intruders!" Barbossa spat, eyes savage upon Jack's browned face, who pulled an expression of some incredulity.

"It's Tortuga!" Jack retorted and Barbossa leaned yet further in.

"Exactly!" He hissed and Jack threw up his hands.

"Less work for the lads though, if we pull right in, what with emptyin' and restockin' it all, have a heart there, Barbossa." And he raised his voice just a notch or two so that what crew were about might hear and Barbossa scowled.

"I not been a Captain nor became a pirate lord for near thirty years by bein' soft, Jack Sparrow, and I'll thank ye to remember that." Then abruptly, he straightened and smiled in a dangerously soft way. "But mayhaps ye be right lad, for to be sure we'll need to stock well for the journey we have ahead of us."

"Precisely!" Jack jabbed a finger at the air and smiled ingratiatingly. "Glad you can see reason."

And Barbossa smiled a trifle wider.

As the crew went about the task of tying the boat up at the dock, Sparrow and Barbossa debated the time they were to be in port.

"No less than seven nights, says I, so as to give the lads time enough to make merry and satisfy their desires to their full for to be sure we have a long venture ahead of us and there may be little opportunity for revelry along the way." Barbossa stated as though it were already fact and Jack made a show of contemplating the proposal with a finger to his lips and brow furrowed. Barbossa could not quite restrain a roll of his eyes and then mocked: "Have a heart there, Jack." Hissing the name through his teeth as though he intended to make a meal of it.

Jack blinked then smiled, throwing his hands up. "Right enough there, Hector. Seven days it is. Agreed. I imagine you have a lot to catch up in the way of earthly pleasures as it were. As for me – well – "With a deliberate sidle of his eyes to Barbossa, Jack said nonchalantly: " - there's a certain flame-tressed wench I have a desire to reacquaint myself with." Barbossa whipped a furious glare upon Sparrow in spite of himself and Jack sniffed as though he had not noticed. "Wonder what sort of mood Scarlet will be in." and lurched away, Barbossa's flint-like eyes hard upon him still.

Sparrow strode the dock until he came in line to where Gibbs was already in negotiations with a plump young brunette.

"Mr. Gibbs!" Jack announced. "It has been decided between _Captain_ Barbossa and myself that we shall set sail once more on the seventh dawn of our anchorage so be certain you and the lads be ready to make sail upon the fifth, leastways we find ourselves stranded with nought but an empty barrel of rum and Hector's infernal laughter ringin' in our ears for our trouble. "

Gibbs pondered the statement for a moment before realisation dawned in his eyes and he returned the command with a grin and a salute that didn't quite make it to completion.

"Aye, Cap'n!"

Jack grinned and inclined his head. "Good man!" and continued to make his loping way upwards into the heart of Tortuga.

Onboard the Pearl, Barbossa stood on the main deck and shouted down to the crew who were busy finalising the last tasks of securing the ship and emptying the old cargo.

"Right then, mateys, head first into port then and be sure to take ye fill of wine and women both in generous quantities, but mind ye be back here and ready to make way three dawns from now if ye don't wish to be left behind! Make haste and be gone with ye then!"

Shouts of 'aye' filled the air as the crew hastened about their work, eager to get into the port and find their pleasures and Barbossa surveyed the bustle with satisfaction, a chuckle rumbling deep in his throat. Then he limped down the stairs and onto the plank that led to the scurvy solid land of the town, intent now upon his own purpose.

III

Giselle was having a splendid night and enjoying every moment of it. A lot had changed on The Black Pearl over the last twelve or so years; there had been times when its anchorage had meant merry-making and times when it had been only a cause for fear – and under the same Captain both! That blasted Jack Sparrow – that pretty boy with the lying tongue! – had had it for a time as well and that had come to mean for her a curious mix of pleasure and vexation, though it was usually more the latter than the former, with the former being just tantalising enough that memory of it had her enduring the latter on more than one occasion. And then it had been Barbossa – a pirate whose name was well known and no mistake about it – and, it seemed, with his possession of the vessel all causes to celebrate his anchorage had fled. Giselle knew her dear old chum, Evie, had suffered much at the brute's hands, but the rest of his crew had not been much better, those she'd encountered anyway. Not like this sweet fellow here, with his eye patch and shy smile. He was a crewman of the Pearl and it seemed the ship had encountered different fortunes again.

Of course, the Pearl was not the only ship with so chequered a history, but there'd been few that had encountered mishaps quite so colourful and Giselle blinked her kohl-rimmed eyes over the rim of her tankard, lips slightly agape and tried to keep pace with the lanky lad's tumbling tale, interrupted at frequent intervals for embellishments and additions by his two companions. Giselle had been about long enough to know that these two, though mature men of whatever-and-thirty, were newly turned and as intoxicated by their recently acquired trades as a China-man on his opium fumes.

Though their garbled recountings were difficult to follow, she was able to discern, or at least supposition, that their most recent venture had very much been a life and death sort of situation, and this made all three of them very generous with his coin.

Most important of all, all three had his attention fixed very squarely upon her. As soon as she reached the frothy dregs of one tankard, another filled her hand, and she sat perched upon the bar of The Mermaid's Tail having to do not much else than smile lavishly and flash a pearly-white thigh on occasion as they each strived to outdo each other for her most focused attention. For a girl as advanced in years as Giselle, she considered this a mighty boon indeed and was calculating how much she should ask for the three of them at once, or if she should just charge each separately, when a shadow fell over their little group, and all three of the men turned to take stock of the newcomer, only to fall silent in humble subjugation. Giselle, head reeling all the more from the generous quantities of ale combined with yet another abrupt adjustment in the direction of her little coterie's moods, blinked rapidly at them, before dragging her gaze to the interrupter and then feeling a great clutch on her heart as though the Devil had reached up through the earth below, through the solid wood of the bar, right up inside her and squeezed hard.

For what she beheld was surely a ghost.

Captain Barbossa stood there, tall and square shouldered, his eyes as flint-like and his bearing as regal as it had ever been. A grinning monkey in pirate's garb sat upon his shoulders. Her three suitors each saluted him in their turn, led by the lanky fellow who touched his hand to his forehead and murmured "Cap'n". The two squallers from Greenland stood up rather much taller, jutting their chins out and fixing their gaze straight ahead, as though they expected their Captain to inspect their carriage. He barely glanced at them, apart from a single half-lidded shot, his full lips curled in the scantest of smiles that was at once indulgent and superior, before turning his attention quite completely to Giselle, who opened and shut her mouth, painted red and glossed with egg yolk, like a fish caught for some poor sailor's supper, fapping about on the docks.

"Evenin' Miss," Barbossa breathed, his voice soft and rumbling as a distant storm. "Apologies, but I recall not ye name."

Giselle's lips fixed themselves shut with a pout. Well, a ghost indeed! He was no such thing! Flesh and blood, as sure as her quim. And it was no great surprise after all – for had it not been Jack Sparrow who had bragged of vanquishing the brute once and for all? And if there was anything a lass should know, it was that the word of Jack Sparrow could not be trusted, nay, not even on whether the night was dark and the day bright! Obviously he had got rather much carried away with yet another sun-and-rum induced fancy of his and it was these ruminations on Jack's penchant for fabrication that prompted her to smile saucily at the Captain and lift a bare shoulder to him, momentarily forgetting her old chum Evie and her sufferings at his large and weather worn hands.

"Giselle is 'ow I'm known 'ere abouts, but for a gold piece I'll answer to anythin' you care to call, Cap'n Barbossa."

He bared his teeth as though in amusement but made no sound, moving forward so that his crewman each fell aside to make way until he was side by side with the whore, one elbow resting comfortably on the bar and his eyes quite level with her own, looking upon her in such a way that she felt a tickle down her spine and dismissed it for a tendril of hair, escaped from its highly-piled arrangement. The monkey blinked great dark eyes at her, its wrinkled little face strangely resembling that of a babe's.

"Giselle." He said, the name seeming to escape between the spaces of his teeth. "Tell me, my sweet. Ye were once much about these parts with another girl, a redhead."

Giselle suddenly recalled Evie's red eyes, swollen with tears, her bruised mouth and worse, her fits of melancholy humour, Evie who'd been born to a whore's life and who'd yet found herself vexed by a virgin's curse in her dealings with this man. Her flirtations ceased and she drew herself up sharp, turning back to her tankard with careless disinterest.

"Scarlet, you mean I s'pose?"

Barbossa's great hand whipped out, gripping her wrist and arresting the passage of her tankard before it could quite reach her lips.

"Ye know of whom I speak." His voice was hard with warning and she stiffened. "Where be she this eve?"

Giselle felt herself bridling. Did he think she'd never known the back of a man's hand! She continued on with deliberate nonchalance: "Well now, m'dear, it's been a few years since you was 'round these parts and things 'ave a like to change awful quick – girls leavin' town or droppin' down right dead in the streets - - "

Barbossa said nothing, merely tightened his grip and she realised he would kill her as soon as beat her and that it wasn't worth it.

"She's about." She surrendered sullenly. "Saw 'er with a bloke a while ago. Try the Duck and Swan. She fancies that joint these days."

Barbossa released her suddenly, smiling widely. Giselle did not grasp her wrist, though it throbbed, merely continued her drink in silence and Barbossa withdrew a piece of gold from his pockets and slipped it inside her bodice, one calloused finger flicking against her nipple. The monkey chirruped and grasped hold of its tail, blinking at her cheerlessly. She steeled her jaw so as not to flinch, staring above the heads of her three companions who remained silent and obsequious in the presence of their Captain.

"Thank ye kindly, Miss Giselle." He hissed before turning a sharp eye to his crewman. "Enjoy this wench well and pay her as befits the pleasure lads," he barked, and the skinny one almost dared a smile, though the two greens merely gulped and gaped. Giselle felt a burn upon her cheeks at the cold weight of the gold against the curve of hr breast. Then he was gone, his wide shoulders pushing their way through the men that crowded around the bar, the monkey upon his shoulders twisting around to screech at them at he made his way into the chaos of the tavern, the blinking light of the dim candelabras quickly obscuring him from their sight.


	2. Parts IV to VI

IV

It was not long after that Messrs Murtogg and Mullroy, newly of the Black Pearl, wandered into the Lamb and Flag. Ragetti had offered Giselle his arm and she had taken it, leaving the two to their own devices. Certainly, the pretty blonde whore had made some sort of insinuation that they were welcome to join them, but that was not yet something to which the two formerly upright navy men were quite ready for.

Indeed, Tortuga was not something they were entirely prepared for either. The chaos of sights and sounds sent their heads reeling, much aided by generous quantities of very strong rum and aqua vitae, and though they had seen many attractive whores, they had yet to muster courage to approach one. Even the whores of Tortuga seemed different to those of other ports – wilder somehow, brighter, their accentuated curves, scarlet lips and coiling hair seeming to spring straight from an oil canvas depicting some sort of mythological sirens.

Of course there was also the fact that selecting a companion for the evening might mean they would have to part ways until they boarded again, and what with all the recent disruptions, upheavals and adjustments to their lives, they weren't quite ready to do that either.

But looking was another thing entirely, and the two friends indulged in the most slavish ogling, staring quite agog at the orgy of revealed flesh and painted faces that dotted the crowd occupying the tavern.

"Oy!" Murtogg nudged his friend and gestured before them. "Look!"

Thinking he must be indicating some particularly lovely strumpet, Mullroy eagerly followed his friend's gaze, then grimaced and turned to Murtogg with some alarm. Murtogg nodded with a daft grin.

"Is the Capt'n. Well - one of 'em."

"I can see that!" Mullroy responded tersely, then gave his head a brief shake. Murtogg looked merely confused.

It seemed Barbossa had not found the woman he wanted in the Duck and Swan. He searched the crowds with a look of peculiar concentration upon his features, brows knitting together slightly. His gaze fell upon the two fresh pirates and they both snapped to attention, Murtogg offering him a grin with his salute. Barbossa regarded them with a cocked brow for a half a moment before extending a hand and gesturing that they should approach him with a flick of his fingers.

They hastened to comply, still used to the regiment of the navy in which one's superiors were never off-duty and certainly unused to the rules of piracy, in which all men were ultimately free.

"Gents," He addressed them. "I have a need to find a particular woman, a bawdy wench whose company I much enjoy. It occurs to me this would be accomplished far quicker – "

A woman's laugh burbled up above the din and the crowd, arresting Barbossa mid-sentence, his expression registering startlement. He whirled about in the direction of the sound and for a moment the close-packed bodies of the crowd parted, giving them a clear line of sight to the bar and she who had emitted the laughter, not ten feet from them.

The whore was no bigger than a child, though she had the face and body of a woman. She sat perched upon the bar, one leg crossed over the other with her skirt hitched all the way up to her thigh, a garter embroidered with red beads displayed there. Coppery red hair tumbled all the way down to her waist in unruly curls, coiling over her shoulders to tickle the cleavage exposed by her much adjusted purple dress. She grasped a near empty bottle in one hand and the other was pressed upon her belly for she was convulsed with laughter by something her companion, a young well-muscled fellow, was saying to her. Though she had obviously seen younger days, she was still a beautiful woman with a gentle good nature in her eye and an air of spiritedness about her.

But it seemed that she was not what Barbossa sought either for though he looked upon her with savage intent for a long moment, he turned quickly to the bar and rapped upon it for the publican's attention.

The whore slugged back the last of her gin greedily, swallowing around the last of her giggles, then gave her companion a friendly shove.

"You right bloody devil!" she accused him cheerfully, to which he threw up his hands as though acceding and then grasped her about the hips. The whore brandished her bottle to the fellow and smiled at him in a charming fashion.

"Fetch us another drink, won't you darlin'?" she cooed, but before the fellow could respond, a bottle was slammed down upon the bar by her elbow so that she jumped and turned to stare at it, and the hand that grasped its neck. It was a hand that had clearly seen many rough years, its knuckles blistered red by the elements, its flesh patched and worn over and the nails long and cracked. Despite its roughness it was a large, fine hand with long, tapering fingers that curled almost delicately around the bottle neck, one adorned by a large ring bearing the snarling face of a lion. The whore seemed transfixed by the sight of it, her face paling beneath its dusting of powder, her reddened bottom lip dropping open a little as her eyes ran from the hand up its arm, where the frills of a linen shirt fell about the wrist; up the beaten leather jacket to the shoulder where a small, mischievous looking monkey perched; to the face, which was fixed with a strange and smug little smile upon her though his eyes were carefully masked. The bottle she held slipped from her fingertips to thunk loudly upon the bar, where it bounced and fell to the ground below, shattering and spraying glass upon the boots of the whore's companion. It wasn't until the great exhalation escape from her throat that it became clear she had been holding her breath and her eyes were suddenly very bright in the smoky din of that tavern.

Barbossa's smile grew a little wider as the whore's companion drew back a little, staring at the two curiously. Her eyes flickered frantically over Barbossa's face as though she scarcely dared believe he was there, her lip trembling.

Then suddenly, she snapped her expression into one of pert insouciance and she grabbed hold of the fresh bottle of gin and tipped her neck back to drink of it in great, thirsty gulps. Barbossa stood still and watched her, one eyebrow edging up a little, lips still twisted in that calm little smirk.

When she was finished, the whore wiped her mouth with the back of one trembling hand and sniffed.

"'Eard you was dead." Her tone was indifferent, but her eyes were still bright and Barbossa's smile widened again, showing teeth now, and he clucked his tongue at her.

"Oh now, it ain't so easy to be rid of me as all that." He purred and the monkey upon his shoulder sat up and let out a chattering. The whore lifted the gin bottle as though to toast him.

"Leastways you 'aven't forgotten your manners at any rate." And took another hard swig.

When she withdrew the bottle from her lips, it could be seen that the tremble had taken her over completely and she lifted fearful eyes to the pirate captain, who stood by and waited patiently.

"You ain't – you ain't a dream – are you?" She whispered and Barbossa chuckled and stepped forward, lifting an arm to run a long finger down her cheek so that her breath caught and she shivered.

"Nay, wench." He rumbled. "I be flesh and blood, the very same which warmed ye so many nights for so many years."

And he let his hand drop from her cheek to her wrist, steadying it before she could let another bottle fall, his fingers closing around hers.

"Thank 'eavens for that!" The whore murmured, swaying where she sat. "You can catch me." And quite abruptly she keeled over in a faint, crumpling forward towards the pirate who caught her up in his arms.

V

When Evie came around, the first thing she became aware of was the din and clamour of the tavern about her and she suppositioned she had drunk overmuch and was fixed by a fainting spell. Hoping she had not been robbed whilst unconscious, she sat up abruptly with a strangled gasp and found herself arrested by two strong arms.

She shook her head to clear it. She was no longer at the bar, but in a corner of the tavern lit only by two dull tallow candles and almost certainly upon the knee of he who held her. Some rum bastard trying for a free poke! Furious, she gave a shout and tried again to wrest free, twisting around to face the scoundrel.

Then it all came back to her as she saw his face. Barbossa – Barbossa, breathing, smiling, speaking, standing before her at the bar with a bottle of gin. Stroking her cheek, grasping her hand. And it was he who held her now, firm in his grasp, his expression still but gentle.

A hundred confused thoughts jumbled their way through her head – he was alive, but how? Was he a spirit? Was _she_ dead, knocked over by some cutthroat? Was this some strangely awful dream she was trapped within?

So tangled did her thoughts become that they caught in her throat and she could not speak, could not say even a word, just moaned in a low, aching sound as she lifted a hand to the pirate's cheek, feeling the beaten skin rough beneath her finger tips, the curls of his beard scratching her palm.

He cradled her in his arms, a smile slowly forming on his mouth as he looked down at her with a calm and thoughtful gaze, until finally, all the questions quieted themselves and she merely succumbed to it. Let it be a dream then, or a torture, or even her death – if it meant that her Captain held her up with an arm about her shoulders, that the briny, musky smell of him filled the air about her, that her head rested upon his chest – then she would take it.

He lifted his free hand to touch her face, his eyes flickering gently over her, then snapped his fingers suddenly to the two men Evie only then became aware of, standing by one with a bottle in his hands and the other with a glass and both of them rather resembling stunned mullets. Hastily, a drink as poured for her and Barbossa delivered it to her trembling hands and she drank of it gratefully.

"It would seem time has worked a cruel trick on yer nerves, Missy." He murmured to her and she coughed and sat up a little straighter.

"Well, it's not every day I get the fright of me life." She said defensively and he chuckled, taking the glass from her and placing it upon the nearby table.

"P'raps t'would be best for ye if I escorted ye to a place where ye might be able to more properly rest them." And he ran a finger down her throat and dipped down where her breasts met.

Evie had not blushed for many a year, but she flushed hot then.

VI

They walked in silence through the streets to the Maison Rouge Though his arm was about her and the feel of him solid and tall beside her was as it had ever been; though he had not, so far as she could see, changed in any real way – his manner and speech, his regal bearing, sharp humour and cunning eyes – even the infernal monkey! – were all as before – yet she felt strangely as though she walked beside a stranger and it made her shy.

She let them into her room, dark and cool and his hand on the back of her neck was heavy, causing a strange twist in her belly. The monkey leapt from his shoulder and disappeared – silently, for once – to a corner of the room. Barbossa strode forward, looking about him with a strange smile as she hastened to light candles.

"Has so many years passed?" He ruminated softly and she understood how he felt. She moved to the sideboard to pour them both a drink, not quite daring to look at him, wondering with sudden panic if he might disappear if she did not.

He came over to where she stood, running one hand into her hair, the other pushing her dress from her shoulders so that the swell of her bosom was exposed to the candlelight. She shivered at his touch, shutting her eyes for a moment. How well she knew these hands – how she had not expected to feel them caress her again! She thought for a moment she might faint again.

"Beautiful Evangeline, how you have blossomed." He smiled and there was strong feeling in his voice. Evie felt herself blush, a warmth that spread down her neck and she ducked her head, for she knew she was a woman of thirty-three, and looked it.

"Showin' my age a bit." She managed to reply and Barbossa shook his head and clicked his tongue.

"It suits you."

Evie cocked her head to the side and gazed up at him. "So you think I'm beautiful then?"

Barbossa half-shrugged and queried her with a chuckle: "What purpose would I have had in visitin' a docks whore were she otherwise?"

Evie's gaze softened and her voice dropped low. "You never said it. Thirteen years and you never once said it." And they both knew she was not speaking of flattery.

"Aye," Barbossa agreed, "but I kept comin' back. Why so pressin' a need to hear it now?"

It was Evie's turn to shrug and she turned her face away from his.

"I turned thirty-three this year."

Barbossa lifted the hand from her shoulder to cup her cheek, his thumb stroking a line down the curve of it. "They have been kind to ye." And he spoke with gentle reassurance.

Evie's eyes grew brighter in the candle-glow and the merest twinge touched her lips as she returned her gaze upwards into the Captain's composed face.

"I missed you." She confessed and Barbossa dropped both hands to her shoulders, squeezing them tight.

"Don't be growin' sentimental on me wench, now."

And Evie sniffed and tossed her hair back over her shoulder, recovering herself with a greater effort than she let on.

"I'm not. Spare a thought for all the shrivelled pricks I've 'ad to deal with these last years. It's only natural I'd miss you."

A smile spread up Barbossa's face then, gentle and shadowed with secrets long kept. His grip on Evie's shoulders tightened and his eyes held hers firm as he spoke his next words with quiet deliberation:

"I have felt yer absence."

Evie's smile was beautiful in its openness, perfect joy represented there for one bright moment, but then it wavered and her eyes filled with tears once more and this time they spilled down her cheeks as she wrapped her arms about Barbossa's waist and wept into his chest.

"Are you a dream? Are you 'ere? Truly?"

Barbossa sighed and lifted his hands to stroke her hair, shushing her with a noise that seemed to want to be soothing but caught itself on the way out and so rasped: "Shh, shh."

"If you knew," Evie continued to sob. "'Ow it felt to 'ear you was gone… after all those lost years." And she clung tighter to him.

"Now, now, to what purpose ye be sheddin' such tears, quiet them wench." And though his words were harsh, his manner was tender, one hand dropping to push back her hair, caress her face, the other falling to the small of her back to press her firmer against him. "If such long bein' denied my touch has brought so much woe to ye, why do ye not rejoice now and confirm for yeself that I be truly here, in flesh and blood, and all too willin' to enjoy yer affections?"

Evie blinked through her tears and gazed up at him, wondering. And as she looked into his face, aged and yet no older than it had been twelve years before, she saw it. Saw it in the spark that enlivened his eye, and in the brightness of his countenance – he was truly returned, restored and whole, as he had been the first time he had come to her. And a little gasp choked her throat and she raised her hands to his face, feeling a swell of elation sweep through her as his head lowered and their lips met.

To feel the warmth of his mouth, the probe of his tongue, was heaven. She slumped against him, fingers smoothing the stubble that roughened his cheek, pushing back into his loose hair, running over his ears to the back of his neck where the muscles were taut, delighting in each sensation. She shivered as his mouth opened wider against hers, his beard scratching her chin, feeling such a delicious intoxication from the kiss that she thought she might swoon.

All the restraint he had been showing to that point was abandoned. The intensity of his kiss now stole her breath away as he grasped her hard in his arms, lifting her so that her toes dangled against the floorboards. She struggled to match his savagery, which seemed only to spur him further on. He tore at her clothing, fingertips fumbling with the fastenings of her bodice, finally wrenching it apart so that she heard the rip of the fabric and felt it give. Hs mouth savaged a path across her jaw, down her neck and over onto her bared breasts, bending her so far over backwards that she had to grasp tight to his shoulders to keep herself steady. But he would have no resistance and tipped her feet out from under her, sweeping her up and into his arms and throwing her upon the bed where she rocked dizzyingly, pausing long enough only to tear off his vest and loose his belt before bearing down upon her once more.

She realised quickly she could not possibly hope to keep pace with his fervour and so surrendered herself to him wholly, allowing him to do with her as he willed. He stripped her bare of every shred of clothing, hands ravishing her body fervently. To feel him take such control of her after so long absent of him was to feel her soul bloom with pleasure and a sense that all was now right with the world. She could not bear to shut her eyes and so lose sight of him, but kept them open, feasting hungrily on every twinge of emotion that sparked upon his features. And his face was alive and ever in motion with them. Beneath the tempest of his desire she could but lay back and be swept away, feeling herself crash back against the mattress and pillows like debris on the rocks. Within she swelled with delight, with sheer ecstatic contentment. She became aware that she was weeping again, tears of joy that streaked her cheeks with kohl, and Hector's thumbs swept her cheeks violently to wipe them away as his cock found her warm entrance and pushed within, his lip quivering as she stretched then tightened around him.

It was as days of old, and yet entirely new. He was rough and forceful and she responded favourably to it, mewling against his neck and chin with pleasure, relishing the way he grasped her hips the harder to drive into them and bruised her mouth with his. She gripped his shoulders, dragged her nails down his back, dug them into his buttocks. She felt herself slick and accommodating within as she had not been for many years, felt her scarred insides become malleable to his cock, the old vibrations of pleasure thunder through her. His weight was crushing against her breast and he drove against her relentlessly, yet devoid of the cruelty and fury that had so defined his cursed years.

She had thought that this first time of their rejoining would be over with quite quickly, but he steadied himself valiantly, scooping one arm beneath one of her legs and pushing it up high so that the curls of his nether hair might scrape deliciously against the spot of her greatest pleasure, his mouth moving from her lips, which he kissed tenderly, to her nipples, which he nipped and dogged so that it was not long at all before she felt the final ecstasy rise within her, gathering in strength and force until finally it erupted it molten waves, bidding her quim to bite down hard on his cock again and again.

It was not long after that his own pleasure ascended, then ebbed, with a furious groan that seemed to tear from his throat like a dog's howl.

They lay together, still joined, for many long and quiet moments afterwards in the still semi-darkness of her room. Even the monkey seemed to respect this moment and remained quiet in whatever corner he had sequestered himself in, for which Evie was grateful, as she stroked Barbossa's shoulders and back, feeling the warmth of his breath against her neck. So still, and so quiet, that she became aware of the thud of his heart hard against her breast, and wanted to weep and scream.

Instead she turned her face inwards, into the spot where his ear met his neck, and nuzzled there, breathing deep of the brine and sweat that was his cologne.

After a time, he rolled off her and she sighed with a loss of it and out of habit checked to see if the great wetness she felt below was blood. Bessie had cautioned her that so long as she took care not to overwork her cunny too much and to keep it moist and wet when she did, bleeding would become less and less. But she always needed money and did not always remember to rub a biter's prick with grease before they went about the business. She had almost grown used to the wretched cramps in her loins and the reddish smear on her thighs.

But there was no blood there, not this time. She had been slick with her own juices when he entered her and his spendings were now all that added to that wetness. She felt a giddying relief and a joy that she functioned still as a woman should, for the only thing that could equal his dying was for him to return and find her dried up and sour as a lemon.

But a woman she was still, as fragrant and luscious as a ripe peach, he told her soon, lifting his head from between her thighs. Indeed, richer even than in the bloom of her youth, he claimed and she had laughed and slapped at his shoulders, but revelled in the flattery. It was indeed a balm to the sting of her advancing years, made all the sharper when he noted the jar of henna on her dresser when he moved to retrieve his pipe. Her hair had recently acquired several grey streaks amongst its rich ochre hue, but she told him that she occasionally dyed her hands and feet with it, or marked patterns upon her face and breasts, to improve her exoticism and draw attention away from the lines of age that had begun to crease their unrelenting path upon her features.

He enjoyed the dips and curves of her body more languidly as the evening unfolded, though she sensed in him still a keen hunger, though not so savage as she might've expected for one so long denied.

"I take it Tortuga was not your first port o'call upon your recovery, then?" she said with studied nonchalance, after he had filled her in briefly upon the details of his resurrection as they languished together on the bed in a looping arrangement, his face level with her rounded belly, his hand upon her hip and her feet twining about his knees.

He glanced up at her sharply, understanding her meaning immediately.

"Nay," he surrendered and kissed the round of her hip. "Ye were not." His answer was far more direct than her question had been and she could but shrug and roll over onto her back, stretching against the worn fabric of her coverlet. Well, she could hardly have expected to be his first – not when he had so long been waiting for satisfaction!

So it was that his next words thundered through her with the force of a cannon, leaving her limp and breathless on the old lumpy mattress.

"But it was of ye my first such thoughts turned to."

Above her the dark red velvet curtains of her canopy blurred and she reminded herself she was a woman of three and thirty now and too old for sentiment. So instead she pushed herself into a sitting position, feeling the hairs that curled about her ears wet, and offered to fetch him his supper.


	3. Parts VII to IX

VII

When Evie awoke she thought she must be still in the midst of a very pleasant dream. A dream that had her ensconced, warm and safe, within the arms of her long-lost Captain. Her head was quite heavy and the kohl of the previous night was smeared so that her eyelashes clung together, turning all her surroundings to a lovely mess of burnished gold and muted red, even as the last lingering threads of her dream clung to her in the form of heavy, muscular arms draped about her. She most definitely did not want to wake up!

But as sleep struggled to release her she realised that the warmth of the phantom's flesh did not lift nor give way, but seemed to become even heavier. She turned her head a little and felt the scape of coarse hair, like that of a beard, against her forehead, and heard the muffled exhalation of breath that was too heavy, too rasping, to be her own.

In a rush the events of the previous night came back to her. Barbossa – not dead, as she had thought, but alive and breathing, as he had been in years long past – and back on Tortuga, ravaging her hard and drinking and eating with as much gusto as he ever had. Indeed, perhaps more. Then she'd idled within his embrace and asked questions of him he'd been unusually patient to answer until the dawn had come – well, it must've, for she had grown suddenly weary – and she'd felt her lids growing heavier with every blink.

Carefully, she extricated herself from the still-slumbering Captain, gently unwinding her long hair from where it coiled about his shoulders. Then there had been nothing but the bliss of a heavy sleep – and although she had awoken reluctantly, Evie now felt more refreshed than she had in a long time. Evie propped herself on one arm and gazed down at Barbossa's care-worn face. It was the countenance of a man who had faced winds from all over the world – the scorching and the bitter, the furious and the careless – and yet in the gentleness of sleep the ghost of a youth lurked somewhere there still.

Her heart skipped a beat and for a moment she thought he would suddenly tremble, then vanish, and she would be alone as before. That the night had been only a fancy, or worse, a cruel torment from some mischievous god – a visitation from beyond this life for a mere day only. She held her breath, one hand clutching at her breast, and stared at him in fright. But moments passed, and he remained, coughing a little in his sleep. She breathed out.

Slipping from the bed and into her wrap, she darted over to the fireplace and began to set a new one, that she might warm water and wine that she could spice in the way that was currently fashionable on Tortuga, such as it had fashions. Moving to her dresser and taking up the silver handled bristle brush that had once belonged to some fancy lady with initials of MR as engraved in the handle – though Evie did not recognise them – she began her toilet. Gazing into her mirror, time-warped and rippled as it was, she rather felt that she appeared softer today, with less care upon her face. Her long curls were enlivened by her brushing and leapt about her face, framing it prettily and a smile seemed to linger about her lips.

Evie paused in her administrations, breathing softly and gazing at herself, trying to understand the sensation of lightness within her. She was happy. As sure as could be – she was happy.

There was a rumble then, from the bed, as Barbossa stirred and awoke:

"A whore should know better than to leave a man's side at the waking hour." He commented with only the slightest hint of irritation. Evie could not help the smile that widened her mouth then and though she attempted a nonchalant saunter back to him, at the last she broke and leapt upon the bed with a delighted shriek, into his arms and the bliss of earthly pleasure.

VIII

Barbossa took the glass from her with a nod and took a large draught. She'd added the cardamom, ginger, cinnamon and clove and found the mixture enlivening and comforting at once, especially heated as it was. He shut his eyes for a moment at the taste and half-smiled. "As they do in England." He'd remarked, then continued pulling on his boots.

They'd determined to go out for their supper and though Evie would just as soon have stayed in her room and continued to enjoy his carnal attentions, her principle interest was in staying by his side and she was giddy with how much it seemed to be as days of old.

"We will not be long out," he assured her as he fastened his sword belt and fetched up his hat. "But I want to be sure my men know what they're about, for we set sail once more on the dawn two from now. "

Evie choked on her wine then, suddenly run cold throughout despite the warmth of the drink.

"That soon!" she cried with open dismay and Barbossa's lip curled at her distress and he turned his back sharply to her, whistling to the monkey.

She could not summon a whore's dispassion now; she had betrayed herself already and her anguish was too keen. Grasping him by his arms she entreated, with a hot wetness already gathering in her eyes:

"You can't leave that soon! Please! You just got 'ere – it's been agony, it 'as, I only want you near a little while longer!"

"That would only make ye the more maudlin when the time came. " He grumbled, a thunderous look upon his brow.

"Please!" She implored once more. "Surely you can stay a week at least!"

He had fixed his gaze toward the ceiling, pulling back from her but now he thundered:

"I cannot! If I be to keep me ship and not lose it to that charlatan Sparrow, I cannot be idlin' here in drunken foolishness nor wallowin' in useless sentiment!"

"I cannot bear it!" she wept and continued to cling to him though he had become stiff with dangerous humour, the same that had always preceded the back of his hand in years gone past. She did not heed the warning and buried her face against his chest, sobbing uncontrollably. "Please. Please, do not go so soon."

His hand raised to grasp her hair, thrust her away, to slap, but at the last instant it faltered, then fell softly upon her neck, his grip though firm was gentle and he pulled her face from where it was buried in his shirt and raised it to his, grasping it with his other hand.

"Do not weep!" he commanded harshly. "Quiet yeself, this excess be unbecomin'. I leave as I say I will and nowt will persuade me otherwise, least of all a whore's tears. Think no more about it and set yer mind instead to enjoyin' the time that we have. Ye should know by now, I will return eventually."

Evie's chest heaved and she had to swallow hard, but she did as commanded and quieted though her eyes still burned. She washed her face with cold water and quickly rimmed her eyes in kohl and her lips with carmine as Barbossa gulped down another glass of wine and refused to look at her.

Then it was down to the streets below, where the Tortugan night was warm, lively and filled with the scents of sin.

They walked for a while in silence, some distance between them, Barbossa's countenance grim, brows heavy above his eyes, and Evie hiccoughing from the effort of swallowing her tears. They passed a scene where another whore was shrieking and throwing an assortment of clothes and furniture from a doorway towards a sailor who bawled and entreated her to listen to reason. At that, a smile quirked Barbossa's lips and he placed a hand on the back of Evie's neck, drawing her closer to him.

"I must be assured of me security before indulgin' in revelry." He offered her. "I am much weary from venture and relieved with your company. But there be time enough for longer stays in the future. "

She knew it was as close as he would come to saying he wished to stay with her and it soothed her considerably. She leaned against him and wrapped an arm about his waist, silently treasuring the solidness of him as they made their way through the chaotic streets of Tortuga.

IX

They were enjoying the meal of wild pork and hen, roasted with spices and smothered in sauces, Evie's appetite unusually good and Barbossa watched with approval as she cleaned her plate.

"Ye could do with a few more of these." He remarked, referring to the meal, as Evie fetched out her pipe, filling it with the ground cocoa leaf. "Ye've all but wasted away."

Evie shrugged as she searched in her petticoats for a light. "You know my appetite was never especially sharp." She noted suddenly the candle that illuminated their table in the crowded tavern, and held it to the pipe. She knew that she was a lot thinner these days, even the spread of her advancing years doing little more than slightly widening her hips and curving her belly, but the pipe simply did not encourage appetite. She knew too that Barbossa preferred a curvier figure and supposed that, now he was returned to her, she had reason to try and eat a bit more. She puffed away, feeling the lovely sting of the drug as Barbossa continued to watch with a strange sort of amusement, then inhaled too sharp and was overcome with coughs, her body wracked with them painfully.

"Ye do that often now," he observed, and she indicated the pipe. She had become used to the coughing fits, forgetting that he had not known her when they begun and would've marked them through the previous night. He reached over and took it gently from her grasp, not heeding her 'oy' of protest. "Fill yer plate again." He directed her. "Then ye may indulge."

She sulked, but complied and he filled their glasses once more with wine, before turning his eyes to the boisterous crowd, where two very young, dimpled and buxom whores made merry. His smile was appreciative and not a little covetous and she followed his gaze to the lovely strumpets before smiling to herself.

"Now there's a couple of luscious tarts and no mistake." She declared. "Don't know why as you would keep seekin' me out with so many bright young things about."

He half-laughed and leaned back in his chair, eyes twinkling. "Now, why the cunnin', wench, ye know well enough."

She shrugged and reached for her glass to drink. "Not cunnin'. Is 'onest. 'Aven't got as much to offer as them. Not anymore. I knows it."

"Ah," Barbossa glanced at her with sharp amusement. "No fisherman like a woman. Me gaze of ye is much influenced by years past. And ye be comely enough still. Satisfied, wench?"

She set the glass back down and wiped at her mouth to hide her smile and threw him a sly glance from beneath lowered lashes at which he laughed. "Asides from that, it be more than a pretty face I desire."

She sighed, a warmth rising within her that was not caused by the alcohol, and nestled against him contentedly, her fingertips playing along the rough and frayed edges of his vest, her cheek against the crook of his shoulder. He dropped an arm about her and continued with his supper.

"Fourteen, that one there." She said jerking her head towards the blonde who was singing a ribald ditty to the amusement of a cheering group of sailors. "I looked that good at fourteen. You should've 'ad me when I was fourteen."

He snorted. "Ye were flat as a plank at fourteen, or I most likely would've. I'd say I had ye when ye was properly ripened."

"Twenty years I been at this now." She ruminated, slipping a hand inside his shirt to curl about his chest hair. "On this same bloody place, most of it in the same bloody room, turning the same bloody tricks. Seen at its best and at its worst. It went really down'ill for a while there, got so as you 'ad to practically throw in bed and breakfast just to get a blighter up!"

Barbossa laughed softly at that and she continued.

"Things lookin' back up now, though, thank 'eavens for small mercies, or I might've 'ad to take up needlework! 'Course, most of the old girls 'igh-tailed it – to greener shores, as they say – "

"Pastures." he murmured in correction, but she did not heed him.

" - but such as was never for me. " She paused and sighed, pushing her hair back over her ear. "Well. So it would seem. I s'pose. I thought about leavin'. Many times. " She glanced up at him shyly. "Glad I didn't now. It's a big world out there."

"Ye seem to have survived well enough here. " Barbossa remarked mildly, and Evie nodded in agreement.

"Oh yes, well enough. I s'pose it's just – " she hesitated for a moment, wrinkling her forehead. " – it's just that. All my life I been 'ere. Watchin' 'undreds of others come and go, as they please, 'earin' all the tales they 'ave to tell of the world."

Barbossa shrugged and took up his glass for a drink. "Such be the lot of a woman – of a whore."

She sighed. "I'm just a bit weary of it all. If that's my lot – why can't I do it someplace else for a while? The truth of it is, I 'aven't the guts. Been 'ere too long – too settled. Don't know anythin' about the world beyond Tortuga, or 'ow to go about movin' through it." She seemed suddenly distressed by this, her brow furrowing.

Barbossa finished his mouthful and wiped his lips. "Death gives a man a new perspective on things." He stated, then took a large sip of his drink. He seemed somewhat agitated, fidgeted a moment when he set his glass down, sighed. Finally, he spoke again. "If ye be wanting to leave wench, I will take ye. And will set ye up with a home of yer own to mind for me whilst I am upon the seas. "

She could not speak for a long moment, staring at him in mute astonishment. He did not look at her, but watched the antics of the crowd as though he had said nothing of great import.

"Are you bleedin' serious?" She finally managed to exclaim, her heart hammering urgently in her chest. He looked at her in mute enquiry, as though to ask what had so stunned her.

"If that be what ye wish." He repeated, and for what seemed to her like the twentieth time in as many days, tears sprung to her eyes and she could not help laughing.

"You – you would take me to another land – and put me in a 'ome there, that I might keep?"

Again Barbossa shrugged lightly, pursing his lips slightly. "I am but a few years short of retirement. It needs only for me to recoup what I have lost in order to do so comfortably. And when that time comes, Missy, I will be much appreciative of a comfortable home and a warm body in me bed. Shall it be ye, then?"

_**To be continued!**_


	4. Parts X to XII

X

"Two trunks at most." Barbossa said commandingly. "We'll sell the rest. We'll fetch a good price for ye – then ye may have all new things, which I'm sure shall please ye."

Once again, Evie's head was in a whirl as Barbossa quite easily moved her sideboard from its place against the wall. It always was a great struggle for her. She dropped to her knees and rolled back the edge of the rug, revealing a rough-hewn trap door. Lifting it, she withdrew the small but heavy chest from its hiding place, grunting a little as she did so.

"What be yer savings worth?" He enquired, bending to take the chest from her.

She shrugged and tossed her head. "Well, now, I don't rightly know."

He snorted, and tossed his hat on her dresser, striding over to the bed with the chest. "What be the point of holdin' a stash if ye know not its value?"

"Well I know its value on Tortuga!" she responded pertly as he opened the chest to reveal a great shimmering mass of coin. "That be brass, that be silver and that be gold. A brass won't get you no more than a suckin' from me and a gold will let you all the way up 'ere. "

Barbossa chuckled with no small delight, sinking onto the bed next to the chest.

"Hasten, wench. Pack that which ye wish to take while I count this for ye."

She hurried to comply, not daring to pause and think upon what was happening – what she had agreed to – how in thirty-six hours her life had taken so dramatic a change! She had become satisfactorily resigned to the notion that she would live out the rest of her days on Tortuga, once her profitability as a whore had expired making her living playing the sailors at cards, perhaps with an additional profession as a leaf-seller or even investing in a boarding house for the girls to use. Certainly, she had rather more reluctantly accepted that her Captain would have no part to play in this comfortable, if unadventurous, life.

But now! Evie was not altogether sure she had entirely accepted what had occurred – that she was so numbed with the shock of it all it could be days, or even weeks, before she would realise with a heart-stopping start the full import of it.

He had been scant with the details – certainly, the bullet scar above his heart was new – and surely such a wound _was_ fatal – but here he was before her, and he was a pirate lord! Fancy that! Not that that surprised her so much, but she rather thought he would've made much more of it over the years she knew him, for it was an esteemed position to be sure. He was not so much a braggart though, and it had never truly come up in conversation. She knew for certain now though, he had been part of the cordon that had defeated the East India Trading Company.

But had he truly risen from the dead, as it would seem he had? And who would have power to do such a thing? She had learned from his tale that a black witch had been the first to receive his favour. Would a mere witch truly have such immense power or had she merely nursed him back from the brink of death?

Evie did not quite have courage to ask – she was not sure how she would cope with an answer that indicated the man she had made love to that night had lately been quite dead.

Now her future was being redrawn for her, right before her eyes. She was soon to take the first sea voyage of her life, visit exotic ports she had only ever heard tales of before coming to a final stop in England, the fabled "motherland" of so many she had known, however briefly, over the years.

There, Barbossa had decreed, he would purchase for her a property.

Into a trunk flew Evie's dresses and petticoats, corsets and stockings. On top of that she thrust hairpins and brooches, necklaces and earrings, wrapped up in a small sack. That was the easiest of the lot to choose from – now what?

Barbossa was upon her bed, carefully counting the money that spilled from the small chest in a shimmering pile. She would take the pillowcase, purple with gold embroidery, that Jasmine had given her – a memento of the old friend who had married a sailor and departed Tortugan shores some years ago. But everything else upon it could be sold – though she supposed the bed itself must remain, as it would not be easily dismantled. She looked at the mirror tied to its posts and half-smiled. So much to let go of!

She went to address Barbossa but he barked at her to be silent and so she continued with her packing. Well – everything from her dresser – her creams and unguents, hair brushes, perfumes she supposed. The various little statues and ornaments she had come to adopt over the years – they were small, after all, and would not take much space, and she could not bear the thought of abandoning them after they had sat watch by her all this time, in particular the lovely wooden Virgin Mary with her benevolent smiling face and blue mantle, or the Black Madonna, patron saint of whores so Bessie had told her, and of course the crucifix that had been above her mother's death bed. There was a pagan goddess as well, with many arms and holding aloft a man's severed head, her tongue protruding obscenely from her mouth – Kali Ma, to whom Evie prayed to punish any man who'd gypped her or backhanded her. They and other curiosities were lovingly wrapped in scarves and placed carefully within the voluminous folds of some dresses in the trunk.

Then, of course, there was her music box; containing the various gifts Barbossa had given her over the years, the precious mementos of their chequered history together. That, too, was carefully wrapped and secured.

She paused on her old oriental rug and surveyed the room. Only now had she come to realise the clutter she had accumulated over the years. Day to day it had all seemed merely the bare necessities of her life, the simple things she needed to carry out her trade. Now, with the journey ahead of her, she realised how superfluous it all was, and easily replaced. She would not need the old cracked glasses or decanters, her washbasin, kettle or chamber pot, not her tin bath, the candelabras or even the paintings upon the wall. She would take the small canvas with the naked red-haired woman languishing on her bed though – she had seen herself in that painting and found she did not like the idea of parting from it.

Thirty-three years and she was near to finished packing the evidence of her life away into a trunk! Now she found herself mentally assessing how much the rest would bring. Her furniture was in comparatively good nick; the washstand with its marble top in particular should fetch a good price, along with the mirrors. Pity she could not sell the bed, but it might not easily be rid of. She had inherited it with the room and perhaps it was only right that the whore to next take up residence here should do same.

At that though, Evie was suddenly giddy and felt herself sway where she stood, the room tipping up about her. With a little _woof!_ She sat down abruptly upon the old carpet. Oh dear God and all other Heathen Gods besides – could it be she was truly vacating this room for another – a whole world away?

More to the point – could she truly do so?

Evie put her head in her hands and felt her breath come in short gasps. What upon this grotty earth had she agreed to?

Evie crawled to the sideboard, the woven carpet gritty and rough beneath the palms of her hands. Fumbling for her ever-present bottle of gin she took a few great gulps and found her heart rate to slow and calm.

"What be ye doin' upon the carpet, ye daft hussy!" Barbossa grumbled from the bed. "I shudder to think of the filth that's been ground into it over the years. "

Evie sat back on her haunches, feeling her pulse rise again. "I can't do this!" she cried, and he looked at her sharply. "I'm too old! It ain't for me – this is me lot! I can't do it!"

She couldn't name the expression that flitted upon his face then but it was replaced in a second by a contemptuous sneer.

"So be it, wench, that be yer choice. If ye wish to die a cocaine-addled docks whore in the corner of a stinkin' tavern, then I'll not stop ye."

Evie took another big drink, trembling. Damn him, damn him! Would he not then soothe her and persuade her? She found herself on a precipice, torn between wanting to stay rooted in familiar soils and wanting desperately to be dug up and flung out into the unknown. She only needed him to help her tip the balance.

"I suppose then it matters not to ye what the sum of yer little cache here is worth." He spat sourly and she glanced up at him quickly.

"Tell me." She whimpered and he sighed, scooping the coins up in his great hands and tipping them back into the chest.

"Ye have a modest fortune. It wants only a little care and ye might live quite comfortably and even in a degree of style off of it for many, many years. To be sure, ye will most certainly not starve in the streets unless ye indulge in bejewelled gowns, diamond garters and cloth-of-gold counterpanes. "

The news of this quieted her and she sat back in a little heap on the carpet with her skirts bunched around her, one hand gripping the gin bottle and the other upon her breast, gazing ahead of her in numb silence. Would this day bring no end of surprises? She knew that she had certainly squirreled away a good amount of coin, but she'd had no idea quite the extent of it.

A whore's life is always possessed of a certain degree of uncertainty in the realm of financial security. Money had always been a great comfort to Evie over the years; for with it one could be assured of some stability and reliance in a world that otherwise offered none.

To know now that she was, if not in name or breeding, modestly well-to-do suddenly girded her with a sense of power and when she raised her eyes to Barbossa, who had been regarding her quietly, this new strength shone from her eyes so that he could not help but lift his brows to it.

"Then I will go with you." She said with resolute calm and the corner of his mouth tweaked in an almost imperceptible smile.

"Fine." He snapped, shutting the lid of the chest with a sharp click. "I had rather been thinkin' with yer peculiar savvy, ye might do well managin' a house of yer own. Mind, ye have enough to retire upon."

She was rising from the carpet, brushing out her skirts, and to this she gave a short laugh. "Oh no! I could never be idle, not me! Me 'ole life been spent workin', I could no more as rest on me laurels as give up the drink."

He had risen from the bed, shrugging off his coat and vest. "It be yer choice, wench. Ye certainly deserve a rest after all ye've given of yerself upon this raggle-taggle pit. But ye might have that and be mistress of a bawdy-house at once, securin' others to act in yer stead, as it were."

Evie was smiling strangely now, gazing ahead at the wall with soft eyes, one finger curling in her hair.

"There was a girl 'ere for a while once before, Imogen 'er name was. Oh I say she was a girl but she were older than me. Come over from England she did. She told me that over there where she 'ad a so-called resp'table trade as a seamstress, that she'd work twelve 'ours at a time and go 'ome at the end of it with nought but a measly piece of silver! Showed me the sort, she did, and you know it wasn't even silver, not real silver like. It can take me under a minute sometime, the mere twinkling of an eye, to suck a fellow to 'is joy and I gets a real piece of silver for that. All you fellas as what sails on the sea, no matter what reason you claim takes you out there, you all want the same thing in the end – liberty. You all want to know you got no master to whom you 'ave to answer, no duties which you must fulfil, 'cept that which best serves yourselves, and that you may take off wherever you like whenever you feel likes it."

Evie moved over to her dresser whilst Barbossa regarded her with silent curiousness, reaching out one hand to touch her reflection in the mirror, stroking one brown finger down a silvery cheek, still smiling. "That's what my trade means, you know don't you – freedom. So long as I can make money this way I 'ave no need for lord nor master, neither in trade nor in the bedroom. I don't got to rely on a 'usband to provide for me and I don't got to work my fingers to the bone so some toff can grow fat and rich from my efforts. If I don't feel like workin' one night I don't 'ave to, and I can work as long as I please. And my sort is needed everywhere. No matter what fears I 'ave of not knowin' 'ow to go about things, there's not a land about on which I couldn't find myself gainfully employed and so long as I can work I'm dependent on no man. " She turned to look at the Captain, who had not moved, his lips slightly parted. "Thing is, I don't think I could give up now, even if you did ask that of me. There's too much comfort in knowin' I can always make a few extra pieces and keep what I got intact. I'll be Mistress of an 'ouse, and I'll thank you to help me secure one but if you don't mind, I rather think I might continue workin' alongside the girls." She finished mildly and raised her eyes to Barbossa's lined face.

He smiled, a little one, and inclined his head towards hers. "I understand."

There was no more that needed saying.

XI

At dawn, there came a rap upon her door. She and Barbossa were entwined upon her bed, languidly kissing, a simple bliss that Evie grew intoxicated upon. They started at the knocking and Barbossa scowled at the interruption, though quickly rose and pulled on his trousers, cursing as he near slipped on the cards that were spilled out over the carpet. They had played during the previous evening and she had beat him easily over and over again, and though he laughed heartily at first, he grew quickly weary of it and grasped hold of her to engage in activities that he might more readily control.

Evie drew the sheets up over her bosom as four pirates entered her room. She recognised two of them as the green lads who'd been with Barbossa at their reunion, and the other two – who Barbossa had stopped as they'd made their way back here from their dinner and directed to arrive at dawn with others - as men who'd been with him all the years of his curse. The fat one with the balding head gave her a filthy-toothed smile and touched his fingertips to his forehead in salute, whilst the fellow with the eye patch (and had he not had a wooden eye before?) grinned shyly and ducked his head.

"Messrs Pintel and Ragetti," Barbossa barked with a Captain's authority, his stride back into the room suddenly of a commanding gait. "Miss Evangeline be comin' with us when we depart at tomorrow's first light, so it wants that ye all shall now clear this room of all its furnishing and take them down to the docks for sellin'."

At this news Pintel and Ragetti whipped their gazes to the whore, Ragetti with a slack-jawed astonishment and Pintel with a foolish grin creasing his grimy features.

"Well, 'ows that, Cap'n, is there to be a weddin' then?" He enquired with gleeful surprise and the green lads suddenly lit up with open-mouthed delight, staring at the Captain with shining eyes. Evie flushed and ducked her head, red locks falling over her features and bare shoulders. Barbossa snorted as he reached for a bottle of wine, uncorking it with his teeth.

"Now, now, there be no point to such formality. We've long been well acquainted and such outpourin's of sentiment be for the young who have need of it still." He informed the pirates, who deflated visibly, before snapping at them. "Get to it now, ye slack-jawed curs! We shall be takin' coin only, no trade. We are to be rid of it all by nightfall so ye best make a start."

At his words the men leapt into action, the two green lads negotiating their way about the sideboard and Pintel and Ragetti making for the dresser. As they heaved and dragged the furniture through the door and out onto the landing which creaked disturbingly beneath the weight, Ragetti threw a last glance at Evie with a suddenly bold smile and a quick jerk of the head. Evie felt absurdly pleased – she was known to them and they were pleased for the Captain.

No sooner had they vacated the room then Barbossa turned his commands to her: "Up then, wench, and dress yerself. It needs ye to supervise those slobbering jackasses or ye'll find yerself with a purse of dross." And she hastened to comply.

Barbossa leaned against a poster of the bed and watched as she fastened her stockings to her garters and tightened her stays, gripping the wine bottle tight.

"Ye will be havin' need of a name." He said gruffly, reaching out his free hand to scratch the head of his monkey who had become alarmed at the kerfuffle in the room and stayed close upon his master's shoulder. "England is not Tortuga and calls for certain formalities. Ye may have mine, for I know ye have none of yer own." She tripped on the hem of her dress, hitting her knee hard against the edge of the bed and swore loudly to mask her shock. It seemed the surprises would indeed not reach their end!

Barbossa turned his back to her and took another swig of wine, swallowing hard around it. "Barbossa was the name I took up when I first boarded Morgan's ship. Burton be the true one. That shall be yers, now."

She found she could not speak for there was a hard lump in her throat, so instead she moved over to him and took the wine bottle from him, taking a great drought of it.

"I should be 'onoured." She said hoarsely. "Evangeline Burton," Barbossa blinked at the sound of it, his brows creasing. "It's a fine name to be sure." She thanked him, then threw her arms tight about his waist and pressed her lips again and again to his chest. He stroked her hair for a moment, his fingernails scraping gently against her skull, then pushed her from him.

"Hurry now," he scolded her. "I have little patience for dilly-dallying."

One by one the remnants of Evie's life was removed from the room, down to the very curtains that hung about her bed. Evie sat upon the stripped mattress and watched dumbly as the room was emptied, the bare plaster walls frighteningly naked without the paintings, fans and scarves that had hung upon them, the newly revealed corners thick with dust and black with age. She drank gin swiftly and her free hand was tightly fisted, bunched in her skirts. Finally, all that remained was the wardrobe, and as Murtogg, Mullroy and Ragetti braced themselves then lifted it up and away, Evie gasped and shielded her eyes for all of a sudden the room's little window was revealed, for the first time in seventeen years, since Evie first took up residence there. Pale sunlight winked through the dusty glass, lighting up the little room, now very plain, very ugly and very sallow. It was only she and the great bed, stripped of its fine furnishings to reveal scars and pockmarks over its wooden surface.

Evie knew she must move now, must rise and take the last trip down the rickety staircase and out into the daylight to barter away her belongings before Barbossa lost patience with her. Yet she found she could not. She wrapped her arms about her knees and looked about her room with wide, dry eyes and tripped down a jumbled path of memories, sweet and sour both, of the life she had lived in this little room, unrecognisable though it now was as her home.

Was she truly to never see it again?

Barbossa appeared at the open doorway, but he did not shout at her. Instead he leaned against the doorframe and watched her in silence for some moments before reaching out an arm and beckoning to her.

"Come, Evie." He said. "It is time to go. Ye merely delay what is to come, not preserve that which has passed."

With a sigh and a pushing back of her red curls, Evie unfolded herself from the bed and walked across the room, her heels making a dull echoing sound on the bare floorboards, taking Barbossa's hand and departing without another glance behind her.

XII

Throughout the day she worked so hard she had no more time to contemplate the loss of her home. After informing the proprietors of the Maison Rouge of her departure she had swiftly headed to the docks where she undertook the fierce task of getting the best possible price for much time-worn and third or fourth hand furniture and trappings.

The bartering had been hard and long and Barbossa had come and gone as he pleased, which irritated her. His mere presence could bully a reluctant buyer to agree with a price they wished to argue lower, but at other times he urged Evie to accept lower than she wished in order to be rid of a piece. As expected, the washstand and the mirrors fetched the best price, particularly the mirrors, which swift found themselves new homes with other whores.

The paintings of luridly naked women were bought by sailors who wished to have something to gaze upon the long months at sea, and the drapes from her bed was bought by a young whore who declared her intention to make a new dress of them. Piece by piece Evie handed over her life work's acquisitions and received a handful of coins for them, then watched as their new owner took hold of it with a satisfied smirk or a pleased exclamation, then turned on their heel and strode away, taking another slice of her life with them.

Many of the whores shrieked with congratulatory wishes when she revealed to them the reason for this sudden elimination of her assets, and the many kisses and farewells she exchanged would've made her quite melancholy had she not remembered to set her mind to the task of being quite unfettered by the evening.

Mullroy and Ragetti aided her by each selecting a smaller item and darting off with it into the town where they sold it off and returned to her with the money. In this fashion the day unfolded. Evie had not seen high noon for as long as she could remember and ended up stripping off her dress and working in her stays and bloomers beneath the tropical sun, which was certainly effective in attracting new customers. Ragetti brought her new bottles of gin and crab rolls with halting smiles and she tousled his hair and smoked pipe after pipe to keep herself alert.

The afternoon cooled somewhat and the space around her grew emptier and emptier. As the sky flushed prettily with sunset and she reeled under the effects of gin and cacao, she declared loudly to all about that everything left could be taken for a brass piece and watched in satisfaction as the last straggling pieces vanished, taking the pieces in a grimy, reddened hand.

Barbossa approached as the last purchasers departed with candlesticks and fans under their arms, smiling widely at her and chuckling.

She scowled at him, bone-weary and in no mood for levity, and he took the purse of money from her, quite fat and heavy, and secured it within his cloak, before lifting her into his arms.

"Ye did well, wench. Sustenance for ye now, then sleep, for our risin' shall be quite early."

"Lord, where will we sleep!" Evie declared, dropping her weary head upon his shoulder. "I 'adn't even though of that!"

"There are many boarding rooms in the town." He reminded her gently, his hair tickling her cheek and his arms strong about her. "It will be of no consequence."

"It's all gone." She remarked wistfully. "All of it."

"Nay wench, not all of it." His voice vibrated through him and into her where she curved against his body, feeling the jolt of the uneven path as he walked. "What was most precious to ye has been put upon the Pearl, and the rest was nowt but a weight about yer neck. Now it is a weight in yer purse, which is far more useful, aye?"

She turned her head inwards to his neck, pressing her lips against it. "Aye." She breathed and then felt a great growl of hunger through her as the smells of fresh cooking wafted from a nearby tavern. Barbossa laughed to feel it and carried her hence.

Evie once again outdid herself in appetite and remarked to Barbossa: "If this keeps up, I'll be plump enough in no time." And he nodded approvingly and toasted her.

"Though no frumpy matron shall ye ever be, sweet Evangeline Burton." He rumbled and she suddenly felt that swell of happiness rush through and overcome her. She had lost nothing after all – only gained. "Indeed, the years seem only to bestow upon ye further sensuality."

Indeed! The thought of wearing high collared dresses and fastening her hair up caused Evie to shudder. Age required merely a few minor appropriate adjustments.

"What fun it will be!" she couldn't help but exclaim then, as Barbossa speared fish into his mouth. "Managin' a place of me own and keepin' rooms, and myself pretty too, for you. Bein' a proprietress and havin' a name I weren't born with."

He nodded, swallowing and winking at her. "Aye. A merry caper indeed." He turned back to his meal. "I will not be faithful to ye, mind." His voice was suddenly cautionary. "Not in body, at any rate."

She furrowed her brow in exasperation rather than annoyance. "I knows that! What do you take me for? After all," she grinned, "you've shared me with enough fellas, could 'ardly begrudge you, now could I!"

He chuckled at that. "So long as you understand, Evie."

She reached across the table to touch his cheek and he turned piercingly blue eyes upon her own. "I understand," she smiled. "A man's body 'as needs."

He lifted a hand to cover hers. "Even when that of his soul be fulfilled."

"Well, well, well," a familiar voice interrupted their intimacy and Barbossa turned flashing eyes to the intruder while Evie turned her shoulders away from him, pouting with abject dislike. Jack Sparrow stood there, with his arm about Giselle, an insolent tilt to his hips and chin. "What a cozy little corner we have 'ere! Barbossa, I never took you for the sentimental sort but I must say it positively warms the cockles of my 'eart to see you so 'appily reunited with your lost-long strumpet!"

"Sparrow!" Barbossa spat, glowering up at the leering and lurching piratical jackanape. "Yer arrogance is exceeded only by yer foolishness. Get away with ye for though it would make a pleasant evenin' positively joyous to shoot ye through yer blasted heart, it would also be a waste of good shot. "

Sparrow lifted a finger to his lips then leaned forward, pointing it at Barbossa who rolled his eyes and set his jaw. "Now, now, Hector, temper, temper. No need to mar our new partnership with cruel words. Thought it best, 'owever, to assure meself I 'ad nothin' to fear from you two bendin' your 'eads together again as it were, for we all know 'ow that turned out for me last time."

"Truly, Jack," Barbossa scoffed, having restrained his fury. "Ye think overmuch of yerself if ye truly believe your name has been somethin' upon which we have been mullin'."

"Asides," Evie interjected sullenly, still not looking at Jack. "There was little enough I knew about it all. Just following Cap'n's orders. As it were."

Jack clucked his tongue and cocked his head sideways, smiling at her. "Now, really, Miss Evangeline. You know you owe me for that evenin'."

Now Evie looked at him, turning her blue eyes cold and still upon his and he took a step back. "I think you've collected that debt since. " she said quietly. "Twelve years worth of it."

"Enough!" Barbossa spat. "Begone, Jack, or I'll fell ye after all."

Jack recovered himself and made a mocking little bow to the table. "We'd see who'd draw first, Barbossa, but there's joys of greater interest to me this night. Evenin' to you both then. Giselle?"

Jack ambled off into the tavern but Evie leapt up suddenly and grasped hold of her pal's arm.

"Giselle! Got a moment?"

Giselle had watched the little scene in silence, eyes fixed upon her old friend. Now a little frown of concern creased her forehead. "Course, ducks. What is it?"

Evie excused herself from Barbossa, and dragged her friend to a corner whilst Jack placed his hands on his hips and watched then with a pert expression and Barbossa turned back to his meal.

Giselle's eyes filled with tears when Evie told her of her plans but she blinked them away quickly and gripped her friend in a fierce hug.

"That's wonderful that is!" she choked, and Evie felt herself begin to cry also. "Think of that, Evie of Tortuga goin' to be a Madame in England! What a grand one you'll make and a grand pleasure-'ouse you'll run too. " She pulled back, and held Evie at arm's length, smiling at her. "I can sees you now, surrounded in red velvet and gilt in a fancy purple corset and silk stockin's, bullyin' pricks out of their weeks' wages for false virgins with drops in their eyes and pig gut up their quims!"

Evie laughed around her tears. "What will I do without you, though, darlin'? You've been the best friend I ever 'ad, you know. "

"Nonsense!" Giselle's lip quivered and she sniffled. "You'll be 'avin' too marvellous a time to wonder about the likes of me!"

Evie shook her head, and wrapped her arms about Giselle's waist. "I'll think of you every day, and miss you in the mornin's when me cunny's sore and I'm too sober for any respec'able whore!"

Giselle laughed and embraced her once again. "I'll miss you too, ducks. Oh, I will. Please, please, take care, eh? Take care of your precious self."

"Listen," Evie grabbed Giselle's hands and looked her friend in the eye. "I knows you don't like 'im, darlin', but I love 'im. I do, I truly do. And 'e treats me well, finer than any other. It's what I want."  
Giselle smiled, and freed a hand to push Evie's hair back over her ear. "I knows that. You know," she sighed and rolled her eyes heavenwards. "Some gents betray their 'earts in the things they say. " She looked back at Evie and bit her lip. "Others are more like to do it in what they don't say. " She cupped her friend's cheek and smiled, eyes filling once more. "'E will look after you. You'll always be safe. And you'll be 'appy. "

Evie pressed her lips hard against Giselle's and the two gripped each other tight as around them tankards clunked together and sailors and whores shouted and cheered.

They separated and Evie returned to Barbossa's table and Giselle to Jack's side and the two whores shared a final nod and smile before Giselle was led by Sparrow into the crowd, he glancing curiously at Evie for a moment, and Evie pressed a kiss against Barbossa's neck.


	5. Part XIII

XIII

She woke with the dawn and sat up, breathing heavily in the dim dusky blue light. This was not her bed, not her room, and who was that moving about in the shadows – what in Heaven?

Then she remembered. She was in a boarding room, and it was Barbossa who moved, dressing himself and muttering at her to hurry and rise for they must be off.

Weary as she'd been from her day of selling off her former belongings, she had fallen into a heavy and silent slumber as soon as they had entered the room, scant minutes after seven of the clock. It had been the first night in many years, excepting the few she had spent on Barbossa's ships, that she had not slept in her own bed and she looked about her strangely, her head feeling heavy and full of cotton as she struggled to adjust to the strangeness of it all.

Barbossa whisked back the sheets, and pulled her up by a wrist, landing a swift slap on her buttocks as he did so. Now she felt a thrill run through her as she dressed hastily, a swallow or two of gin clearing her head.

Today was the day – today she left Tortuga forever! Today she sailed for a land she had never seen nor known except through story to be made Madame of a bawdy-house and take the name of a man she loved though was not wedded to.

She looked across at this man as she struggled with the hooks of her bodice and her heart skipped, a chaotic blend of fear and elation coursing in her veins.

He caught her look and smiled, coming over to stroke her head and kiss her gently.

"To be sure, it be a marvellous venture a docks whore takes today." He murmured, smiling at her. "But I shall be by yer side every step of it and shall not leave it until I see you safely in your own abode. Fear not, wench."

She trembled, and managed to smile at him. "Am I to accompany you on your next journey then?"

He chuckled and shook his head. "Nay, indeed not. It be not of the sort for a woman. Though when I be successful – and I will be – I will share the bounty with ye, and ye may be assured it be a great one indeed."

That is all he would say on it, kissing her fiercely once more before whistling for the monkey who chirruped and leapt upon his shoulder, blinking down at Evie who could not resist poking her tongue out at it.

Breathless, she was led from the boarding house and out into the streets, which were beginning to empty as Tortuga's reprobate population idled to their beds for the day. She suddenly twisted her head about, glancing with wide-eyes at all about her, realising that this was surely the last she would see of Tortuga. How quickly it had all happened. Strangely, she wanted to farewell the straggling crowd, though not a face amongst it was familiar.

The sky continued to pale as they hastened through the streets, Barbossa's hand tightly gripping hers even as she struggled to drink in her last looks of her island home, and then the docks were before them, and beyond them the sea stretched, vast and green, undulating gently at their approach.

Evie could not tear her gaze from it, even as she stumbled on the path, could not stop the thought which so racketed through her head that soon – in mere moments in fact – she would be upon it and sailing away to find her new fortune.

Barbossa laughed suddenly as they moved down a wharf, his voice rasping through the new day. The Black Pearl loomed above them, mighty and dark against the fresh blue sky, and its crew were scurrying about, making ready to set sail and rolling up a final few barrels of stock for the journey ahead.

Barbossa limped into their midst and barked orders whilst Evie, feeling very small and uncertain, leaned against a nearby barrel, gripping it with both hands, and surveyed the scene with startled.

The unreality of it all washed over her again and she wondered once more if this were some intoxicated dream from which she might soon awaken – and she could not be sure if she hoped not.

Was this truly the right thing for her to do?

The wharf emptied as the men clambered aboard and there were none left but her and Barbossa. He looked up at the sky, then out to sea, then turned to her with a gentle smile and walked over to where she cowered, his bearing proud and his eyes bright and fierce.

Looking at him, at this man who had so long been in her life, whom she had so longed for and wept over, who had brought such great joy to her and who she loved so well, she was flooded then with absolute certainty and resolution of heart: it was his path that she must now follow and, whether right or wrong, it was by his side she would know new happiness.

He offered her his arm, his face softly creased in the brightening morning, his tall, broad figure splendid against the backdrop of the ship.

"Mrs. Burton," he addressed her, and with a constricted throat and a peerlessly joyous smile, she took his arm, heart singing in a voice that would break the heart of the worst sort of scoundrel could it but only be heard by mortal ears. She walked with him to the gangplank, allowing him to hand her onto it, and ascending with the scent of brine in her nose and the gurgle of water below her. Barbossa's hands steadying upon her hips, she stepped up to where Pintel stretched out a hand to assist her onto the ship and into her new future.

The End.


	6. Author's Note

**Author's Note:**

Ah, here we are, at the very final end (I think) of Evie and Barbossa's tale.

What happens now? Well, I think that Barbossa shows Evie a few exciting ports on the way to England, much to her great delight and disruption of nerves, settles her in Cornwall and then sails off to find the Aqua de Vita.

Evie runs her own brothel for a number of years with a few select girls, working alongside them and enjoying the comforts of her long years of hard saving. Finally she decides to hang up her garters and simply acts as Madame, apart from a couple of regular loyal clients.

Within another ten-fifteen years, Barbossa has amassed a fortune of his own and had many a roaring adventure, visits Evie occasionally, and then decides it's high time to retire.

He returns to Cornwall and they settle down in blissful sin to live out the rest of their days in high style.

And just how long are the rest of their days?

Does Barbossa find the fountain of youth and does he share it with Evie?

I will let you decide!!!!

I must say a hundred thousand adoring thank yous to everyone who read The Briar and The Rose the way through, whether you commented or not, the fact you read it is wonderful to me.

And twice that many thank yous to everyone who requested a sequel. I absolutely had no intention of writing one, but when people enquired and I pondered it myself, I found that I could not leave Evie's end in such a way. I love her too much!!!!

Thank you to everyone who cares for this OC. That is possibly the most special thing of all, in the world of fanfiction. We all love the canon characters but OCs are not the reason we read fanfic… to know she has meant something to some people is truly a heady delight.

My stories would be lonely indeed if it were not for those generous souls who decided to read it. I can amuse myself with them as much as I like, but somehow they only come truly to live, to breathe and take on their own power, when read by others.

Thanks to all readers, it is you who have made writing these stories just a delightful and joyous experience and I am truly grateful.


	7. Author's Note 2011

Welcome to new readers!

It seems another lifetime ago since I wrote this fiction but it sure has been fun to stroll down memory lane.

I hope that you enjoyed it - all you diehard PoTC fans, whether reading it for the first time or revisiting - and all you newly forged fans too!

I feel like the place this fiction finishes on allows for the events of On Stranger Tides without disrupting my own personal continuity at all, which is lucky!

I personally loved Barbossa's treatment in this film - although it was a bit of a scary start - and felt it gave him far more his due than _At World's End_ - which gave him a few good moments, but on the whole did not live up to the character established in _Curse of the Black Pearl_. Barbossa should not be reduced to comic-relief and while _On Strange Tides_ still did not capture his menace fully (I think they down-played it in the last two films to allow for the central villains to be scarier, but in my opinion, Barbossa tops them both, especially as he has no reliance on a gimmicky attribute!), it certainly heeded far more his skill and brilliance. He definitely deserved more screentime but Geoffrey Rush's consummate performance ensured he ruled in every scene that was his. Maybe one day they'll make a film where he finally gets a love interest of his own. Dare to dream!

Please do leave a review and let me know what you think! These fics are old now, by my standards, but I still have a fondness for them - and hope you do too! 3


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